


mercy we abstain

by prettyhearse



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Free Verse, Gen, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyhearse/pseuds/prettyhearse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"hope you're entertained. the snow covers the stain." (free verse poetry about lapis's ptsd)</p>
            </blockquote>





	mercy we abstain

**Author's Note:**

> more crappy poetry. an exploration into lapis lazuli's mental state after all the shit she went through, i guess? warnings for implications of abuse, false imprisonment/abduction, general trauma, negativity/self hatred. title and summary based off "child i will hurt you". kinda just spilled my own feelings out onto the page because i was projecting on to fictional characters again! hope at least someone makes sense of it, enjoy!

 

your hands dig themselves deep, deep down into the sand, feeling each particle against your skin, harsh, gritty

fingernails scrape the seashells and dried seaweed buried beneath the same, but dried bed of misery you had spent so long drowning in and digging through, digging and digging 

downwards

in search of freedom beneath the infinite skies above,

digging your way to the finite depths of your cell, encased in water and sand, voluntarily

shackling your own limbs to the farthest place your animosity could reach.

 

the sand running between your fingers now is dry and smooth and your hands escape with ease, though tiny granules cling to your skin, 

remnants, reminds,

of what once was.

 

you hear him call your name and beckon you, patting the wet, moist sand beside him,

the sand you stayed away from, the sand that was washed away and brought back by the only thing that made you feel whole when it shouldn’t and you don’t want to

ruin his innocence any more than the shadows under your eyes and shakiness in your voice already has so you stand up and walk to him, toes curling into the dry sand as you walk until you feel yourself sinking in 

to that familiar feeling of dizziness and panic and you drop to the ground beside him, 

tucking knees against your chest, pushing against it as though to mimic the feeling of completion once again.

 

“here!” he holds a bright red, castle-shaped bucket out to you, that naive smile stretched across his face, “you can make one like mine!”

and he gestures towards the sandy buildings, structures dancing the fine line of stability and destruction as the waves splash closer and closer to fill the moat.

you watch as those waves splash closer to the tips of your toes and you freeze, curling your toes into the thick, moist sand

as the sea foam bubbles and you push the water away from you, so it forms around your barrier instead of forming around you.

 

he looks at you with an expression of concern and you smile

wanly, insincere, like the rest of them,

an imposter to replace your “real” one, a cold case.

you drop the barrier and take the bucket, scooping it into the glistening sand beside you, digging and digging deep down until the bucket can hold no more,

“pat down the top so it’s flat!” and you do, brushing off the remnants and trying to shake them off your hand, feeling them stick to your fingers and your palm, like reminders.

you slam the bucket down onto the ground and pat the top, like you’d seen him do,

and lift the bucket up only to see

a castle unlike his.

with one pillar slowly crumbling away and cracked foundations but you smooth down the imperfections with your finger before he sees.

 

“now you can decorate it! i did mine with seashells and twigs,” he shows you his castles, stacked on top of each other with shells pressed into the walls like blacked out windows, twigs decorating the roof and the perimeter, surrounding the castle like bars and barbed wire.

 

“won’t the sea wash it away?” you say as you stand up, watching as the waves come closer to you and your castle, the seafoam brushing against your toes as the sand around them dissolves into the water,

“i guess, but we can always build more! that’s the fun part. or you can make a moat like mine to catch the water,” he hands you the shovel with a smile and you take it, watching as he turns around again to finish sticking twigs around it like a fence. 

“but it won’t be the same.”

“yeah but… it would be boring if you just made the same kind of castle over and over!”

you stare down at your castle, unmoving, watching as the waves come closer and closer, until they start to pool around your feet

sinking into the sand, burying them up to your ankles like those shackles, until you’re 

stuck, trapped, confined and it happens again and your vision blurs and your whole body seizes up and the feeling of emptiness has never been stronger, but before you know it your broken body has filled itself up with ferocity, and you pull your feet from their prison

only to shove them into the castle, kicking down the door and the walls, feet going straight into the foundations, into her

into them

into it 

into everything

into you.

it happens again. 

you feel it crack and crumble underneath the soles of your feet

until it’s nothing but a tiny pile slowly being flattened and sucked back into the waves.

the remnants stick to your feet, a reminder

of the crushed crayons and the spilled paint and the snapped pencils and the ripped paper and the smashed vase and the shattered glasses and 

the broken 

you.

 

“lapis?” he says, and you feel him tug at your skirt like he always did when he wanted to show you something cool or tell you something new or drag you out of your own internal, private natural disaster and

you turn around and drop the shovel, hastily hiding your face in your hands to try and mask your laboured breaths and not let him see as your eyes become the ocean, each blink like a wave, 

and he tugs again and says your name, but you don’t look at him through the cracks of your fingers as you choke, “i ruined it again.” just like you ruined everything else, because you ruin everything you touch with your blood-stained, bruised hands

you ruin the quiet peace of everyone else with the contrast between the volume of your scratchy voice and your brain bashing against your skull, screaming as your bones fill with grief and shatter, leaving you hollow, limp and empty like a puppet still hanging from once broken strings you retied yourself,

though a part of you says it’s only fair, justified, for the lives of those you ruin are the same lives that tore holes in you and stuffed them with injustices and deceit, stitching them up threads dipping in poison with a blunt needle.

so you weep louder, repeating that gospel truth like a mumbled, whispered prayer until he reaches up and says

“no, lapis. no you didn’t… there’s nothing wrong with being sad, right? remember what garnet said? we can just make another one, or we can go back inside or my dad can take us back to the barn! it’s no big deal!”

 

you end your prayers and stay silent for a while, finding solace and comfort in the contained, controlled darkness created by your hands, until the storm in your mind calms and the torrent streaming from your eyes dries, your breaths becoming stable again.

“i… want to stay here. i don’t want them to know,” you whisper, your voice cracking as you take your hands away from your face, “can i make another away from… here?”

“sure! i’ll just bring some water over in the bucket so the sand will be easier to make stuff with.”

 

you thank him with a nod and step back onto the dry sand, your wet feet becoming coated in it as you walk, stretching your toes out as the warmth encases your feet, burning away the feeling of drowning and sinking and sticking.  you sit down, fingering the damp hem of your skirt now coated in sand and salt.

you watch him, running back and forth with his sea water-filled bucket, dumping it onto a patch of sand a safe distance away from the ticking time bomb that he’s never seemed to be cautious around or scared of, even after it detonates, his hand reaching out to it, as though he knows the wire he’s snipping with his words as gentle as cotton pliers won’t set it off and kill him and break him like  _ they _ broke  _ it _ so you take it,

and though your bigger hand swallows his he pulls you up and guides you to the damp patch of ground with a bucket there beside it, like it’s him.

you kneel down and fill the bucket again, slowing packing it in, making sure to fill each dip and groove until the sand reaches the top and you pat it down hard and brush off the remnants, leaving your hands clean of reminders

again. 

like you always do.

 

you slam the bucket down and sit back as he gently lifts it off, forcing a laugh up your aching throat as he makes some remark about him being the sandcastle master. 

the castle is whole, and firm, it’s edges and outlines clean,but you don’t want to ruin this one so you refuse his offer of seashell windows and seaweed murals, instead you take a stick to draw around the door, deepening the outline so it’s definitely there.

so it’s definitely unlocked.

definitely open.

definitely not you.

 


End file.
